


Brought to Heel

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Anal Sex, Baz in a Corset, Cock Rings, Corsetry, Frottage, High Heels, I Think This Just Ticks A Lot of Boxes, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: Baz is standing in the middle of his room, white shirt hanging loose and open from his shoulders. Seeing Baz undressed shouldn’t still affect me the way that it does, should it? It’s not new anymore, seeing Baz in his pants, but I still feel my face heating up when I walk in on him.—AKA, The One Where Baz Wears Heels and... More (Then Less)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 27
Kudos: 258





	Brought to Heel

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was an adventure. My first real dip into smut, all because Icarus_Solaire drew Baz in heels. And lipstick. And I was a fan. 
> 
> So, this fic is a present for Icarus. 
> 
> Even though it’s way more than I initially planned.
> 
> Bless and thanks to the other two-thirds of the Thirsty Trinity (The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff & Icarus_Solaire) for being a second set of eyes in this and also listening to me scream when these boys kept going off book. <3 
> 
> I hope y’all enjoy it.

SIMON

Baz is standing in the middle of his room, white shirt hanging loose and open from his shoulders. Seeing Baz undressed shouldn’t still affect me the way that it does, should it? It’s not new anymore, seeing Baz in his pants, but I still feel my face heating up when I walk in on him. 

“You’re late, Snow.” He doesn’t turn to look at me but his eyes meet mine in the mirror. (He doesn’t turn to look at me, but he does lean a little closer to the mirror, pushing his arse out. Are his pants... sheer?) 

“Uh, traffic,” I stutter, as I’m coming to the realization that, yes, Baz’s pants are quite sheer. And more than that, he’s got on fishnets as well. The tops of the tights hug around the middle of his thighs, and stretch pleasantly down his legs. His legs. He’s always had nice legs, toned and strong thanks to his years of aggressive football. I’ve never seen Baz in tights. I can’t say I expected it. 

I can’t say I’m upset with it. 

But tights aren’t where it ends. 

Baz is wearing _heels_. 

Black, with a stiletto heel that must add another three inches. He’ll be looking down on me more than usual if he’s planning to wear these. Is he planning to wear these? 

I never thought I’d be getting hot over a bloke in heels, but then again, I’d never seen Baz wearing them. I think I’d get hot over Baz wearing anything, or nothing at all. He makes everything sexier than it needs to be, but again I don’t think I can complain. 

“Simon.” 

Baz is looking at me, turned to me now, with one brow raised. It’s hotter than it has any right to be, especially when combined with his exposed chest. 

“Earth to Snow,” he says, taking two long strides toward me and, yep, I was right. He’s towering over me now, I have to tilt my head to look up at him. “Something wrong, love?” 

His brow is still quirked, halfway up his forehead, and he stands tall, the picture of confidence. But I hear a waver in his voice. His eyes search my face as I grapple for words, but my mouth feels dry. I clear my throat, I have to tear my eyes away just to find my voice. 

“No, nothing at all.” My eyes find the mirror, find Baz’s arse in the mirror. Fuck. “Wh- uhm, where - uhm.” 

Baz’s eyes bore into me, his gaze is like a heavy blanket laying over my lungs. His presence is overwhelming in the best ways and I want to be surrounded by nothing other than him. 

I lunge forward, grab the back of his neck to close the space between us. I wipe the smirk from his lips, swallow the gasp and moan that escape his throat as he bends to meet me. His hands fall to my hips, pull me closer. He’s doubled the height difference between us. It gives me perfect access to his throat, though, which I take advantage of as his hands trail hotly up my sides and back. 

“Crowley, Simon, if I knew you’d like them this much- “ Baz’s voice is caught between a purr and series of gasps, and each new sound I pull out of him as I mouth at his neck goes straight to my cock. 

I nearly have to tiptoe to reach his mouth again, he’s so bloody tall. He was already so bloody tall, all in his legs, too, now it’s just... _unfair_. He fists his hands at my waist, at first I think he’s just working at my shirt, but then there’s an arm around my middle and my feet are off the ground. Baz lifts me with ease. (Bloody vampire strength. I love it.) I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and he growls into my mouth. I’ve rubbed off on him. (I’d like to, in a different way.) 

I can’t stop running my hands over his skin, his chest, his back. I’ve pushed his shirt off his shoulders, it hangs from his elbows, and I can’t get enough. Baz takes three long strides, still holding me, still letting me lick into his mouth and grope at his back, and still so perfectly balanced on two thin spikes. He’s so bloody strong and graceful, the tosser, it makes me want to fight him. I bite his lower lip instead. 

Just as suddenly as he’d picked me up, he drops me onto my back on the bed. I force him down with me, still gripping at his neck. He follows easily, catching my mouth with his again and sucking, pulling, biting at my lips. 

I don’t recognize the high whine that fills the air as my own at first, until Baz growls and does it again and pulls another one out of me. 

_Merlin_. 

Baz is leaning over me, his mouth moving hot and fast over my skin now. Across my jaw, down my neck, as I let my fingers slide into his hair. Pull, until I feel him moan into my neck, and I realize that we aren’t touching enough. I need to feel him on top of me, against me, so I start pulling at his arms, shoulders, back until he gets the memo and lets himself fall into me. 

Free from holding his weight, his hands find a new home beneath my jumper. Fuck, why am I still wearing a jumper? Why am I still wearing anything at all? Baz is pressed against me, and I feel him hard against my hip, and the noise he makes as I roll my hips into his makes me _ache_ and _why_ am I still wearing trousers? 

I reach down to unbutton my trousers and my hand brushes against him as I do, his gasp hot against my throat. I allow the momentary detour, turning my hand over to palm at his cock through his pants - and his pants are so soft, I didn’t expect that. They’re silky and smooth as I rub my hand across the fabric, and I can’t believe I didn’t expect Baz to have the poshest fucking sheer silk pants this side of London. He rocks his hips against me and I almost forget that I’m here for what’s _in_ his pants, they’re just so fucking nice to touch. 

“These’re nice,” I murmur, and Baz lifts his head to look at me. 

“What?” 

“Your pants.” 

He huffs a laugh, cut off by a groan when I pull at him again through the silky fabric. “I - I believe you were on a mission, Snow.” His voice is strained, and I’ve already got Baz Pitch stuttering. Good.

But I do remember my initial intentions, I still have to solve this problem of too many layers between us. 

I make quick work of my trousers, unbuttoning, and then Baz’s hands are there to shove them down my hips. They’re barely off my arse before Baz is thrusting against me again, and _yes_ , this is better. I’d prefer the complete lack of clothes at this point, but then Baz is rocking his hips against me and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. 

I pull his face back to mine, let him lick into my mouth as he grinds against me. 

Baz is on top of me, pressing _into_ me, _grinding_ against me. One of his hands is still at my hip, holding onto me, and mine travel down the planes of his back until I’m cupping his arse and pressing him even closer. His mouth is basically latched to my neck, he’s been sucking and biting at the same spot and I’m almost certain he’s left a mark there. 

I quite like the idea of that, of him marking me. Of going out with him after this, with a love bite on display. A sign to everyone that I’m _his_ , that he’s mine. 

Baz moves to the other side of my neck, performing the same ministrations there, and I think I could come from this alone. From Baz sucking on my neck and rutting against my hip. From the sound of his stuttered breaths hot in my ear. I feel so close to falling over that edge, rocking up into him, and I think I’m babbling something but at some point my brain disconnected from my mouth, and then — 

Baz pulls away. 

He lifts his hips away from mine, bringing both hands down to hold me down against the mattress. Then he’s pushing himself back, crawling off the bed and standing at the foot, staring down at me. 

BAZ

Simon’s moaning, words and praises and swears bubbling up from his chest between each gasp of breath, and I haven’t even really _touched_ him. We’ve just been dry humping, which is better than it has a right to be, and I’ve been leaving marks along his neck, and he’s coming apart so easily. So quickly. 

_Too_ quickly.

I pull back, pushing his hips back down when he tries to thrust up against me again. He stills, watches me with heavy-lidded eyes as I stand. He looks a right mess, curls mussed but almost resembling a halo across my bed sheets, jumper shoved halfway up his chest and trousers pulled just over his arse. His eyes are dark, wanting, and his mouth is hanging open as he watches me. He’s straining against his pants and it takes everything in me not to climb back over him, take him into my mouth, help him the rest of the way. 

Not yet. 

I was hoping Simon would appreciate the outfit, and he obviously does. Though, he’s not even seen it completely together. 

“We’re going to be late, Snow,” I say in answer to the questions I can feel him throwing at me with his eyes. 

“Late?” He repeats back dumbly, like he’s still not quite caught back up to the moment. 

“Promised we’d meet Dev and Niall. I haven’t even finished getting dressed.” 

Simon’s face is flushed. I want to lean back down and kiss him. 

I don’t. 

I reach for the shirt that Simon discarded earlier. 

Simon’s still watching me. I see his hand start to move, he’d pushed it through his hair but now he’s bringing it down his body. Down to palm at himself through his pants. 

“Don’t touch yourself.” It comes out more demanding than I mean, but then I see the way Simon’s eyes darken and he drops his hand and licks his lips. 

He _liked_ that, did he? 

I swat at him with the shirt, flick it against his thigh, and he whimpers, this almost delicate breath of a sound. “Get up and pull yourself together, Snow. We have plans.” 

I slip my shirt back on, returning to the mirror as Simon shuffles on the bed. 

Then he’s behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist and mouthing at my shoulder. 

“Don’t think Dev would mind if we’re a bit late,” he murmurs, turns his face into my neck. “Would he?” 

“I would.” I shift, turn out of his reach to finish getting dressed. 

Simon pouts. He remains at the mirror, pulling at his hair as if just twisting and tugging enough will fix it. It’s in complete disarray, stuck out at odd angles, and it’s honestly hopeless so it’s a good thing he looks bloody sexy with his hair so mussed up. Especially with the knowledge that I did the mussing. 

“Water, Snow.” I throw him a line, because while he looks ravishing I know he wants to regain some semblance of control over his curls. He just has no idea how. “There’s product by the sink, go make yourself presentable.” 

He sets me with a heavy gaze, one that tells me that is the last thing he wants to do. Then he turns into my bathroom and I hear the tap running. 

While Simon takes care of his hair, I start pulling on the rest of my outfit. 

SIMON 

So, Baz is wearing heels tonight. To whatever it is we’re doing. I still haven’t the foggiest on that front, he hasn’t told me much. I haven’t had the chance to ask, actually. 

I haven’t had the chance to do much more than ogle and grope Baz thus far, which you honestly can’t blame me for. He has no right to look so good in a pair of black heels and stockings. 

I’m not sure I’ve dressed properly, but Baz would be sure to let me know if I’m too dressed down. He’s never missed a chance to tell me so far. 

I think I look nice. Nice enough, at least. 

I’m wearing a pair of dark jeans Baz convinced me to buy, they’re snug and I know they make my arse look good because Baz tells me as much when I wear them. And I’ve got this waffle-knit jumper that Penny gave me for Christmas one year, it’s rather light because I tend to get overheated, which she knows. 

_I_ think it looks nice. 

Baz must, too. I wasn’t the only one rearing to go back there. 

I mess with my hair for a few minutes, I think I’m really just using it as an excuse to calm down. I’m still hard, aching practically, and I’d really like to rub one out, if I’m honest. 

But Baz told me not to touch myself. 

That was hotter than it ought to be, too. Him being so… _demanding_. Him ordering me around like that, telling me not to touch myself, to pull myself together. Wasn’t expecting that, to be honest, or the way my body reacted to it. 

Thinking about it’s not helping my problem. I lean closer to the mirror, focus in on a stray curl that keeps popping out of place, but the movement has my hips meeting the counter and _pressing_ into it. _Fuck_. 

I stifle a groan at the feeling, at the _relief_ , but jerk my hips back. Away. I can’t imagine the embarrassment that’d swallow me if I came here, in Baz’s bathroom, from rutting against his bloody sink just because he wouldn’t get me off. 

I close my eyes and try to think about something else, anything else, until my body takes the hint. 

When I step back into Baz’s bedroom, however, I realize it was all for nothing. Not only is Baz still wearing the heels, which. Just. _Fuck_ , y’know? And the stockings, which. _Shit_. They’re now accompanied back with the white shirt, tucked into a black skirt to his knees with one long slit up the side of his thigh, and a...

“Oh, good, Snow, come help me with this,” Baz calls, pulling at some strings in the corset he’s working on lacing around his middle. 

A _corset_. 

_Shitting fuck_. 

“Um.” It’s all I can manage as Baz turns to the side, watching himself in his mirror. Since when does Baz even own these kinds of things? I know he’s posh, he likes to dress nice and wear designer and look expensive. But _this_ , this is a new level. His typical posh looks are tailored suits and tight jeans, still fairly masculine. 

I’ll be damned if he can’t work this look, too. I just want to grab him and throw him back onto the bed.

I don’t. I step over to him, follow his instructions as he has me help lace his corset. I don’t quite understand how it could be comfortable, but damn if it isn’t hot as hell. 

Once it’s done up he turns back to look at me and I hear my breath catch. His lips curl up into a smirk, painted a bright red, and as I look closer I also see the darker smudges around his eyes. Fuck, that’s well hot, too, isn’t it? 

“Yes, Snow?” He lifts a sharp brow. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m half-hard again and, Merlin, this is going to be a long night. 

“You’re wearing makeup?” 

“I am.”

I swallow. “Looks good.” 

Baz steps closer, lifts a hand to cup my cheek, and for a moment I’m overwhelmed by a warmth blooming in my chest. The way he looks at me, even with that infernal brow still cocked, it softens. It’s warm. His eyes catch mine and there’s a silent message there, a soft declaration. Fuck, I love him. 

And I know he loves me, too. 

His eyes trail down to my neck, and his hand follows shortly. Fingertips brush over my skin, then a soft pressure, a very slight discomfort, and then a thrill runs through me as I realize. 

He’s pressing his thumb into one of the marks he’s left on me, admiring them. Fuck, I didn’t get a good look at them earlier. I should’ve. 

“Ready to go, Snow?”

I nod. 

BAZ

Simon hasn’t stopped staring at me since we left. Honestly, since he arrived at my flat his eyes have been stuck on me. 

We meet up with Dev and Niall, they make a couple jabs at the state of Simon’s neck and Dev says something about how I look better in a skirt than his ex. If I’m honest, I’m hardly paying them any attention. I keep catching Simon’s gaze, his eyes dark and heavy and drinking me in. 

He’s got three dark marks on his neck, one just beneath his jaw, another at the base of his throat, and a third right smack in the middle of the right side. Seeing them makes something twist low in my belly. Watching me look at them must be doing something for Simon, too. His trousers don’t leave much to the imagination. 

I spend the night close to him, whispering in his ear and trailing hands over his bare arms where he’s pushed the sleeves of his jumper up to his elbow. He’s getting more and more riled up with every touch, and I love having the power to do this to him. 

There’s a drag show, that’s why we were invited out to begin with. People are cheering, shouting, celebrating. It’s a good time, but my focus is zeroed in on Simon. On the way he leans back into me as I wrap my arms around his waist, the way he melts against my body, the way he brushes his lips along the underside of my jaw. 

The way he keeps pressing his arse back into me. 

The bar has slowly gotten more crowded, bodies pressing in, and we lost Niall and Dev at some point. 

Simon leans his head back on my shoulder, turns his face into my neck. “Let’s dance.” 

And then he’s pulling me into the throng of people swaying and grinding and flailing around in the middle of the bar. There’s some song with heavy bass playing, a quick tempo, and Simon may not know much about ballroom dancing but he falls easily into the beat. His hands are at my waist, pulling me close as he swings his hips. 

SIMON

Baz is hard. So am I, obviously, as I keep pressing our hips together. Been sporting a semi since we left the flat, Baz just shouldn’t be allowed to be this attractive. It’s maddening. It’s so maddening that I’ve completely lost my mind, and I’m grinding my hips into his in the middle of this crowd. 

But he’s letting me, so I’m not complaining. In fact, I think he’s into this. His hands are grasping at my back, and mine slip down to cup his arse. He gasps into my neck, and then his mouth is there, hot and wet and sucking and biting at the base of my throat. 

_Fuck_. 

Baz’s hands drop down to mimic my own, and we’re pressed together, and I can feel his cock hard against mine through our trousers. (My trousers, his _skirt_ .) I let out a low groan, trying to cover it because we _are_ in public. 

Baz’s mouth is at my ear now, he takes the lobe between his teeth. His voice is low, thick, and warm in my ear. “Are you about to come in your pants, Snow?”

I bite back another groan at his words, but _yes_. I push out a strangled laugh instead. “If we’re not careful,” I say. “Maybe we should—”

But then Baz is suddenly gone, I nearly lose my balance at the sudden loss. He’s already three steps ahead of me, heading back to the bar. Niall’s there. 

“What are you doing?” I push my way past a couple people to reach him, grab his hand. 

“Being careful,” is all he says before turning back toward the bar. I follow, still aching in my jeans and frustrated as hell. 

I was just gonna suggest popping into the loo for a quick blowie, but of course _this_ was Baz’s idea. 

BAZ

Simon’s right worked up by the time we get back to my flat. 

He presses me back against the door of my room as soon as it’s shut, crushing our mouths together and crowding into me. He’s pawing at my shirt, undoing the buttons until he hits the top of the corset, and then he’s tugging at the edges of that. 

I chuckle against his lips as he reaches back to the laces, fumbles with them and growls in frustration into my mouth. 

“How the fuck do you do this?” 

“Not by tugging at it like that, you numpty.” 

“Right, well, it’s dead sexy up until I want you out of it. Fuck, turn ‘round, will you?” 

I laugh again but do turn around, and he’s tugging again at the laces. To no avail. I hear his grunts and growls, until finally he murmurs “fuck it, sorry, Baz” under his breath.

I’m just about to turn and ask what he’s talking about, then I hear the sound of a blade through fabric. The pressure around my ribs is gone, the corset falls to the floor, and when I turn Simon’s closing a switchblade and tossing it aside. ( _Where did he get that? Does he just carry one around now?_ ) 

Crowley, more importantly, did he just cut me out of my goddamn corset? 

He’s grabbing the front of my shirt again, reaching for buttons, and he looks a right mess.

He’s got red smudges around his lips, from my lipstick, and his hair is a wreck from where I’ve been running my hands through it and tugging his curls. 

I grab his hands, stilling them and guiding him back toward the bed until his knees hit the edge and he plops onto his arse. Then I take a step away, and I start to slowly undo the buttons of my shirt. 

Hold his eye contact.

Smirk and lift a brow, because I know it drives him wild. 

SIMON

Baz Pitch is going to be the death of me. 

I’m glad he didn’t get pissed at me for running a blade through the laces of his bloody corset, but I couldn’t get it undone. I needed him out of it, and it was the quickest, easiest way I could think of. 

No, he actually looked at me like he wanted to attack me when he realized what I’d done. But I know now that look doesn’t mean he wants to attack me. 

It means he wants to shag me. 

So, I think he was okay with it, is what I’m saying. 

Anyway, now he’s stood in front of me as I sit on the edge of his bed. And he’s working the buttons of his shirt, but he’s doing it so slowly, so purposefully. 

_Teasingly_. 

That’s what he’s been doing all night, teasing me. Bringing me right up to the brink and stopping just shy of any satisfaction. 

He’s watching me as he works the buttons open, looking down his nose at me now that I’m sitting and he’s stood there. In _heels_. 

The shirt falls from his shoulders, he catches it around his wrists, turns around to drape it over a chair at his desk. His back is to me, and I don’t think I get to see his bare back that often. It’s nice, his pale skin is smooth and I let myself watch the way the muscles of his shoulders move as he folds the shirt neatly. Then he’s glancing at me over his shoulder, still at the desk across from me. Too far from me. 

His hands drop to his waist, thumbs tucking into the top of his skirt on either side. We lock eyes as he starts to push it down, over the curve of his arse, and - 

“Where’d your pants go?!” 

Baz’s bare arse greets me as his skirt falls to the floor and he lifts one long leg to step out of it. He doesn’t answer, of course, just turns back ‘round to me and while I’m now certain he’s not been wearing pants this entire night I’m immediately distracted from the thought. 

Because now he’s stood nearly starkers across the room from me, nothing on save for those blessed heels and stockings. 

“Baz.” My voice is breathy, I clear my throat. Baz lifts a brow and wraps a hand around his cock. “ _Baz_ ,” I try again. “There are much better things that could be happening right now.”

He’s watching me. Not moving. I can see the internal debate behind his eyes, he _likes_ the teasing, but I think he’s getting tired of waiting, too. 

BAZ 

I give in.

I’m mostly naked at this point, but Simon’s fully clothed still. It’s entirely unfair, and I have to reconcile this immediately. 

He’s sat on the edge of the bed, staring at me, eyes dark and pupils blown and lips parted. I take two quick strides to the bed, and then I’m on top of him. Pushing him back, into the mattress, mouth on his neck.

He lets out these pretty sounds as I nip and suck and lick along the length of his throat. The bitter saltiness of his sweat hits my tongue and I lap it up. Once I hit the collar of his jumper I swipe the flat of my tongue up the length of his neck, pull a shaky breath out of him. 

While this jumper looks lovely on him it absolutely must go. 

My hands are at his waist, pushing under the hem. I move down, let my mouth join them, so I can feel the rapid rise and fall of Simon’s belly as his breath speeds up. 

Normally, I would take my time with this. Undress Simon slowly, make sure to worship every new inch of skin as I uncover it. But I’m impatient tonight, I’ve done everything else slowly, and I just want Simon Snow naked. Immediately. I want my mouth on him, everywhere, and I leave hot, open-mouth kisses over his skin as I push his jumper up to his armpits. 

The thing is, I can’t deny myself the opportunity to worship his body at least a _bit_. 

He’s just beautiful, really. Every square inch of his tawny skin is perfect, sprinkled with freckles and moles, and normally I would try to kiss every last one of them. Tonight I settle for kissing a quarter of them, leave a line of loving pecks down to his belly. 

His stomach’s so _soft._ I can feel the muscles jumping beneath my lips, beneath the plumpness he’s gained there. He’s a tad rounder than he used to be, and I love it. Let him know I love it, especially when he’s under me like this. 

Simon moans when I bite his belly, his hips thrust up and against my chest as I suck at the same spot. He’s hard, been hard, and I almost feel bad for having drawn this out all night. 

_Almost_. 

“Baz.” My name is a whine on Simon’s tongue and the sound of it goes straight to my cock. “Baz, _please_.” 

I make quick work of Simon’s trousers, popping the button and unzipping his flies, shoving them down his hips right alongside his pants so I can finally take him into my mouth. He moans, long and low, as I sink down his length. He’s usually wild for me sucking him off, and tonight proves no different as he’s already twisted his fingers into my hair. 

“Fuck, _fuck_. Baz, I’m - fuck, I’m close -”

I move back, coming off of him with a lewd ‘pop’, and he _whines_ again at the loss. But I don’t want him to come yet. 

I tell him as much. 

“You’ve had me hard all bloody night, Baz. I - I can’t make any promises, if I’m honest. Feel like I could bloody explode any minute now.”

SIMON

Baz gets up suddenly and I have to hold myself back from whining. 

It’s not my bloody fault that I’m seconds away from orgasm, the prat’s been teasing me all night. It’s lucky I’ve not come in my pants yet. 

“Where’re y’goin’?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbows as he moves across his room. He’s got his back to me and he’s started rummaging through a drawer, absolutely not answering me. Tosser. 

“ _Baz_ .” And that time I do whine, not that I mean to, but _fuck_ I feel like every nerve ending is on fire and I just want him to _touch me_. 

“Patience is a virtue, Snow.” I can practically hear the smirk in his voice. I consider throwing one of his stupid posh pillows at the back of his head, but something about this is also strangely sexy. Him ignoring me, not letting me come. Frustrating as hell, too, of course. 

He returns a few moments later, a bottle of lube and something else in his hand. It’s something small, circular, and he holds it up. 

“Maybe this will help you… _behave_.” Something in his tone shoots right through me, and makes me hate to ruin the particular mood that he’s set, but… 

“Erm… what’s that?” 

He raises one brow, gives me a look that a few years ago I would have read solely as judgment and ridicule but now I can see the fondness behind his eyes. 

“It’s a cock ring.” He says flatly, as if that would answer all my questions. It doesn’t.

“Uhm…” 

Baz rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Snow.” 

“Oi, not everyone’s a mad sex fiend like you,” I mutter. Then Baz’s hand is around my cock and I let out a low groan, see him quirk that brow again. I manage to rasp out, “Just tell me what it’s for.” 

Baz has a rather impressive collection of _personal items_. I don’t know what most of them are, what they’re for, but occasionally he likes to bring them out when we’re together. Mostly dildos. He did once bring a vibrator to the table. Literally. Fucked me with a vibrator on his coffee table. 

“It goes ‘round your cock, keep you from coming before I want you to,” he explains, voice low, and his hand still stroking me slowly. I drop my head back with a soft groan, hear the snap of the lube opening just before the shock of cold as he spreads it over me, as if he didn’t even try to warm it up first. (Of course he didn’t.) 

Then there’s a new sensation.

I open my eyes, lift my head and watch as Baz pushes the ring down to my base. It’s a new but not unwelcome pressure, and then he’s stroking me again. I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin, I’m so close, so on edge, but I can’t come. 

I see his point now. 

BAZ

Simon’s hips thrust up into my hand and he moans, long and loud. Every sound he makes reverberates around the room, surrounding us. I drop my head, take him back into my mouth. 

“Ah! _Baz_!” One of his hands drops to my head, fingers tangling in my hair, and I can feel the strain in his hips as he tries to keep himself from bucking. 

I’m not sure I’m the cockslut I always thought I’d be, but something about this moment makes me _want_ him to thrust into my mouth.

I let my hands skim over his thighs, scrape my nails against his skin until his breath hitches and another series of moans falls from his lips. My fingers curve around his arse, bring him closer as I take him even deeper. I scratch down the backs of his thighs and that gets him, makes his hips jerk and in the same breath he’s dropping them again. 

“S-sorry, sorr-” he mutters, but it breaks off into a groan as I hum around him. Grab his hips and _pull_ him closer again, take him so deep I feel him brush the back of my throat, my lips are coming up on the ring I’d put on him, and will myself not to gag. It takes all of the focus in my body, but I hope I’ve gotten my point across as I tug his hips again. 

It’s slow at first, little rolls of his hips, I think he’s still not sure that I want this. I keep making little noises around him to ensure him that I do, until he’s thrusting into my mouth in earnest, fingers threaded in my hair. He’s pulling every so often, not quite pushing my head down to meet his thrusts. 

His body is so tense beneath me, he’s given up on any kind of restraint at this point, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually pulled some of my hair out at this point. I’m not sure I’d care if he did. 

I pull off of him, moving back up his body to swallow his whine. He sweeps his tongue across mine, tasting himself, pulling me closer and continuing to thrust his hips up against me. 

SIMON

Baz pulls away again and I can’t help the childish whine I let out. I reach for him but he avoids my hands, kneels on the edge of the bed as he digs through his side table. 

My cock is straining, it feels like I’ve never been this hard in my _life_. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, my body is tense from teetering on the edge this whole fucking time but not being able to tip over. 

I bloody love it, actually. I think Baz does, too, if what he’s been doing is anything to go off. He just let me fuck his mouth, he never lets me do that, says he’d rather not die from choking on my cock or something. (I tell him he’s being dramatic, my cock wouldn’t choke him _to death_ .) (I don’t tell him how bloody sexy the idea of that is. Not him dying, but the idea of him gagging on it. On _me_.) (I was right, the real deal’s just as hot as I thought it’d be.) 

Baz reaches for the bottle of lube he’d discarded earlier. I start to sit up, to reach out for him. I know what’s to come next, obviously. 

He stretches out his arm, shoves at my shoulder, pushes me back down. “What do you think you’re doing, Snow?” 

“Uhm. Can’t properly fuck you from here, can I?” 

“Who said anything about that?”

“Uhm. O-oh, I, uhm.” I stutter, because I thought I knew where this was going. Maybe I was wrong? But then -

“Stop thinking, you’re going to hurt yourself, Snow.” Baz rolls his eyes, and I think he’s always kind of gotten off on being mean to me. (I think I kinda get off on it, too, if the way my cock twitches at the mild insult is anything to go by.) “Obviously I’m going to ride your cock until I’m well satisfied. Then, we’ll see about getting you off.” He states this plan matter-of-factly, like it’s been predetermined. Like this was in a contract we both signed. But I hear the genuine question behind his next, “Got a problem with that?” _Do you want this, too? Still?_

“None at all.” I breathe, and watch as Baz nods resolutely then starts to finger himself. 

I hadn’t even realized he’d opened the lube, but I certainly can’t miss a thing _now_. His mouth falls open as he twists his body, sinks his own finger into himself and adds a second not long after. 

Baz is fucking himself with his hand and it’s so _hot_. 

My cock is _aching_ just watching him, and listening to his soft grunts as he works himself open. As he prepares himself for _me_. I don’t even realize my hand has ventured down to wrap around myself until Baz’s voice cuts sharply between us. 

“ _Don’t touch yourself, Simon._ ” 

I pull my hand back, my hips bucking up into nothing, seeking friction. He must be feeling particularly charitable, he doesn’t make me wait any longer. 

Baz removes his fingers and wraps his hand around me, covers me with the excess lube from his hand and then adds a bit more for good measure before swinging one long leg over my hips and straddling me. My hands immediately fall to his waist and he smirks down at me. 

“Ready to be ridden within an inch of your life, Snow?” 

I start to nod, open my mouth, but before I can say anything he’s sunk down almost completely on my cock. He’s not wasting any time then. 

BAZ

Simon’s been at the brink of orgasm for the majority of the night since we got home. I can tell because he hasn’t stopped babbling. 

“Oh, _fuck._ Fuck, yes, _Baz_ . Ohh, Baz, Baz, _Baz._ So good, you’re so fuckin’ good.”

He’s all broken moans and praises and, _oh_ , this won’t take long at all. 

Having Simon Snow’s cock in my arse feels like finding a missing piece of myself. Nothing on this mortal plane has a right to feel this _good_.

I lean my palms against his chest, bracing myself as I move, as Simon’s hips pump up into me. My pinky brushes over one of his nipples and he arches up against my hand, letting out this keening whine that only spurs me on. _This_ is new information. 

I squeeze his breast with one hand, gently pinch his nipple, and watch as he writhes beneath me. He loses what rhythm he’d built as we rocked together, his hips moving of their own accord. 

Another, louder, cry echoes through the room as I duck my head down and flick my tongue over the hard nub. One of Simon’s hands is at the back of my head, holding my mouth to his chest, and the other is gripping my hip so hard it feels like he may actually manage a bruise. Leaning over him changes the angle just so and I moan against his skin as he gives one good thrust and hits that bundle of nerves. 

“ _Christ_ , Baz.” His voice sounds strained, I look up and see he’s got his eyes squeezed shut. He looks almost pained. I still my hips and pull my mouth back when I see a tear down the side of his face. 

“Fuck, Simon, are you alright?” 

Simon’s breathing heavily, and it takes him a minute to open his eyes to look at me. They’re wet, not quite streaming. 

“Tip-fuckin’-top, why’d you stop?” He thrusts his hips up weakly, I don’t think he means to because he starts to apologize when I grunt. 

“You’re _crying_ ,” I say, reaching out to wipe the tear away with the pad of my thumb. Simon leans his cheek into my hand. “What’s…?”

“There’s a, uhm, fuck - it’s just a lot, yeah? I’m not, like, sad or hurt or anything.” He tries to soothe me, but his voice is still strained, and I slowly come to realize those are _overwhelmed_ tears. 

“Do you want me to take it off?” I start to lift myself up, but his hands are back on my hips, pulling me right back down onto him. We both let out a low groan. 

“Don’t you dare,” he growls. “You’re going to ride my cock until you’re well satisfied, _then_ we’ll see about getting me off. Remember?” 

I swallow. Fuck, if _that_ doesn’t go straight to my cock. We slowly start to build our rhythm again, build back up to Simon’s rambling and whimpering and moaning. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, squeezing my hips, and I nod. He doesn’t miss a beat, wrapping his fingers around me and trying to stroke me in tandem with our rocking hips. It’s messy, and a bit too dry, but then he’s grinding his hips up and hitting everything _just right_ and I’m bracing myself against his chest again as I spill over his hand and belly. 

He strokes me through it, lets me grind my arse back into him until I’m spent and slumping forward, forehead pressed to his clavicle. 

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and turn my head just enough to see Simon lifting his hand, looking it over. It’s quite the mess, honestly, and I’m about to offer up a spell when - 

“ _Simon_.” My tone’s caught somewhere between scolding and aroused as Simon swipes his tongue across the side of his palm. He looks back at me, completely shameless.

“What?” 

“What - what are you _doing_ ?” Now I sound properly scandalized, though I think it’s more at myself for finding this so _hot_. 

“What?” He repeats. “S’not like it’s the first time I’ve ingested your spunk.” 

I curl my lip in disgust and it just makes him laugh. 

“You’re not supposed to laugh at your partner in bed, you prat,” I mumble, and Simon laughs harder. “Especially not if your cock’s still in their arse.” 

“Speaking of that,” Simon says slowly, rocking his hips up. I think I whimper into his shoulder, it’s _too much_ right now. Though if anyone knows anything about too much, I suppose it would be Simon. He’s still hard, still filling me up, and I have to lift myself off of him. “I know you’ve got this whole dominatrix thing going — can blokes be a dominatrix?” He shakes his head, returning to his point. “It’d be wicked if we could move on to that bit where we see about getting me off.” 

“I believe that’d just be a dom… but I can’t say I’m well-versed in BDSM practices.” 

“Right, okay, we can discuss proper terminology and BDSM and all that later, yeah?” Simon rocks his hips against me again, biting back a groan as he rubs against my hip. “Can we _please_ , Baz?” 

“Please what, Snow?”

“ _Baz_.” 

SIMON

Baz is being a prick, and he’s not focusing enough on _my_ prick, which is entirely unfair. 

He’s smirking at me, not moving from where he’s stretched over my chest, I can still feel his come sticky between our stomachs. 

He shifts against me, catching my cock between him and my body, and I could implode. 

I may. I may implode right here, right now. 

“ _Basil_ ,” my voice is rough even to my own ears.

“You never call me Basil,” he murmurs into my neck, pressing soft kisses over my skin. 

“D’ya not like it?” 

“I love it.” It’s a hot whisper in my ear, followed up by him pulling the lobe into his mouth, and I let out a whine that would probably be embarrassing if I had an ounce left in me to _care_ , but all I’m focused on is getting Baz’s attention back on my dick. 

“Fuck, Basil, _please_.” 

“Use your words, Simon. What do you want?” 

I growl, he knows quite well what I want. He rolls off me, just a bit, and runs his hand down my body until it comes to rest low on my belly. Not quite where I want it, but close. His hand is close, I’m close, everything is so _close_. 

“Wanna come, Baz, _fuck_ , pleaseple _aseplease_.” 

Baz’s hand finally moves down to the base, and he’s being so gentle, and the pressure around me is suddenly gone with this rush of overwhelming need. I’m already feeling so worn, so sensitive, so _close_ I could cry. I suppose I already have, I very well may still be, I can’t say I’m focused on much else than the pressure between my legs, the yearning low in my belly, and somehow the hot rush of Baz’s breath on my cheek. 

“How do you want…?” 

“D-doesn’t matter, ‘m done as soon as you touch me - just- just please touch me.” Baz’s fingers wrap around me. “A-ah!-and kiss me.” 

He does. 

I’ve never come so hard in my life.

BAZ

I press my mouth to Simon’s but it’s not really much of a kiss. He wasn’t wrong, it takes two quick pulls and he’s undone, body tensing beneath me, hands clawing at my shoulders and back. 

He’s slack-jawed, gasping and moaning into my open mouth as I lick into his, continue to stroke him through each new wave of orgasm as it hits. 

The night seems to have paid off just as I’d hoped. When he starts to relax back into the mattress he pulls his mouth away from mine, looks up at me with the most blissed-out grin I’ve ever seen on him. There are still wet streaks over his cheeks, and I shift to reach up with my clean hand and swipe a thumb over them. 

“ _Holfuckinshitttinarseheadnhole_ ,” he breathes, and I can hardly make out a single word but I take it as a good sign. His head lolls to the side and I press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Alright, love?” 

“Brilliant. Fuckin’ spectacular.”

I lean down and kiss him again, and it goes much better this time. He returns my kisses lazily, tongue dipping into my mouth. We stay like that, just exchanging deep, languid kisses, for Crowley knows how long. Until I move to push my hand into his hair, then realize that my hand is still a mess and I’d rather not spread his own come across his face. 

I pull back, propping myself up on an elbow. “We should get cleaned up.” 

Simon’s eyes shift down to my hand, his fingers coming around my wrist and pulling it closer to his face. I just stare at him as he runs the flat of his tongue across my palm. 

“Have you got something against water, Snow? Or proper cleanliness?” I ask, ignoring the spike that shoots through me. _This should not be so arousing_. 

“Wondered if it tasted different,” he murmurs. “Plus, you made me come so hard my legs feel kinda tingly.” 

I laugh, I can’t help it. 

SIMON

Baz presses a kiss into my hair and stands. I’m too tired to ask where he’s going, I feel well knackered after that. 

He’s back in a few minutes, or maybe less time. Maybe more. I have no idea. 

There’s something warm and wet on my stomach, I tilt my head down and watch as he runs a cloth across my skin. Cleaning up our mess. 

He takes my hand in his, takes his time wiping down each of my fingers and pressing a kiss into the knuckle when he’s done. 

“Tired, love?” 

I blink my eyes open, hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. I hum and faintly hear Baz laugh before closing my eyes again. 

I feel him wrap an arm around my waist. Kiss my cheek, my chin, my lips.

I’m too tired to kiss him back, but I turn into him. Let him wrap me up in his arms. 

I faintly wonder if he’s ditched the heels and tights yet. Think to ask. 

I don’t. It’s too hard to think, too easy to just. 

Let myself fall into him. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr: @pipsqueakparker

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Silk & Velvet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427366) by [aralias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias)




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